After the stableboy took their nearly collapsed horse to the paddock for tending, they were led to their room—a generous space with a tub, a broad bed, and several large chests that were stacked haphazardly through the chamber. The room had a door facing the back side of the structure, with easy access to the road and the yard.
The kishion stared out the window at the yard and then headed over to one of the chests and opened it. He drew out a servant’s gown that Maia immediately recognized. She had just seen a similar gown on Maeg . . . it was the uniform given to the servants of Lady Shilton’s household.
“What is this about?” she demanded, not bothering to conceal her anger.
“Change into this,” he said, handing her the gown and motioning to the changing screen. “There is food on the table. We will eat before we go. Now change, quickly!”
Having ignored her question, he returned to his spot at the window, parting the curtain slightly to gaze outside. He went to the table, where the innkeeper had set out some repast for them, and grabbed a dark baked roll and nearly growled as he devoured it. When he noticed she had not moved yet, he turned back to the window.
“If you need help changing, I am glad to oblige you.”
She clutched the gown to her bosom and hurried behind the changing screen. Her heart still thudded in her chest, but she quickly obeyed, hurrying to undo the lacings by herself. The room had a brazier, and it was not cold, but she found herself shivering as she pulled off the gown and dressed in the hated costume of Lady Shilton’s household. She did up the lacings, determined not to ask him for anything ever again.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked over the screen.
“Where the Medium bids me,” he answered mockingly.
She clenched her jaw in frustration. “Answer me truly. You dragged me from Muirwood to Bridgestow. Why?”
“Because this is where the ships are,” he said flatly. He growled something under his breath. “Have you finished yet? I feel a pressing urgency to go.”
“I am done,” she said, coming around the screen. She clutched the other gown to her chest, not certain what to do with it. It felt oddly familiar to be wearing the servant’s gown again. He looked away from the slit in the curtain to stare at her, his expression betraying just a hint of emotion. There was a longing in his gaze that made her experience a queer feeling of pity.
“Eat,” he said, gesturing to the tray on the table—there was bread, Muirwood apples, and two cups. She was ravenous, having missed her dinner, and felt her stomach growl unbidden at the mere sight of the food. She tore into a hunk of bread and it tasted delightful and plain, a commoner’s food. She quickly devoured it, then took a gulp from one of the glasses and tasted cider. It was sweet and slightly pungent and she put it down quickly, the flavor coursing over her tongue.
He nibbled on a fistful of roasted nuts from his pocket as he watched her eat, his glance returning to the window at regular intervals.
“The King of Dahomey is coming for me,” Maia said. “I love him. Please . . . you must let me go.”
“What will he think when he finds us in a room together?” the kishion asked, giving her another sardonic look.
Maia swallowed, now even more parched, but the sudden fear that he had tampered with her drink kept her from taking another sip. She wiped the sticky juice from her lips.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He gave her a sidelong look. “I am doing this for your good, Maia. The Victus will murder you and destroy your kingdom. Every last man, woman, and child. If I believed there were any possible way that you could succeed, then I would gladly step back. But I know you too well. You are too compassionate. You are too forgiving. The Victus will destroy you, and I cannot abide that! I cannot bear to lose you. So we are going on a little journey, you and I. We are going back to the lost abbey.”
She stared at him, thunderstruck. A stab of pain hit her abdomen, and she gripped the edge of a chair, feeling the needles begin to work.
The discomfort was . . . familiar.
“What have . . . you done?” she gasped as another wave of pain struck her bowels. She doubled over, feeling the waves of nausea and pain slash at her insides.
“You recognize the feeling?” he said with a smirk. “It is not the first time I have poisoned you with this particular drug.”
Her knees became unsteady. She felt pressure in her ears as the twists of agony spread and deepened. Her stomach heaved and everything she had eaten spilled back onto the floor as she fell to her hands and knees. Through the pain, through the ringing of her ears, she remembered this feeling. She had last felt this way in Lady Shilton’s attic, where she had been locked away for so long. Reliving the tortures of her past banishment made her tremble and shake, and her stomach clenched again, this time more violently.